Post-operative wild dreams.
Dreaming about going to buy some Origins face cream and make up, because I’m going for an interview.
I get a sample for the cream from the sales person, who seems to know I’m broke and isn’t all that quick to come and assist me.
Dreaming about talking with my mother, discussing how BC is alright but that we both miss Montreal, and though we wouldn’t want to go back there, something is missing from here, too, and an appropriate new place has yet to present itself. Pondering in mutual comfortable silence where that “other” is.
Dreaming of opening portals with sexual acts between unwitting participants and which didn’t really give the opener (who looks like a weary Alice Cooper) the expected/desired result seems to have changed and matured him in “good” ways. It was like a scene from Battlestar Galactica meets Big Fish meets [a film with a steampunk themed mad scientist lab].
The last bit of my dream has me shaking sand off of clothing I’d worn to the beach into grass just outside the patio door, the shaking off outside spurred by the bunch of sand spilling on the floor when I started unpacking my bag.
I’m moving better. This morning I was able to, for a time, nap on my left side while holding a pillow against my belly for support. I tried doing that a couple of days ago and was in too much pain to stay that way or to shift around much. Missionary position was the ticket. I’m looking forward to being able to sleep on my side or stomach again.
I stopped taking the pain meds, too – it seems that the discomfort is manageable in these increments and nothing I can’t manage. Resting helps. I’m constipated which is not anything highly unusual as it’s somewhat of a “normal” state for me. I have pills for that but I’m hoping for things to move on their own. ::sigh::
I stink and it’s time for a shower. I was holding off until the pain receded enough so that when I pressed lightly on the incision areas, it wasn’t hurting so much. Also, I wanted to be sure the incisions were well enough healed so that when I initially exposed them, they wouldn’t risk getting infected. They’re still tender but way better than initially.
I’m laying in bed and the birds are busily confabulating out front. The air is cool again but the sun seems like it’s out, and the raining has stopped.
I think I have a crush on my anesthesiologist, if only I could remember more about him than the kindness of his eyes and how gently and carefully he inserted the IV device into my hand.
Actually, there were two anesthesiologists… the one who I consulted with before and the one I met in the OR. That one was all Rock Star. Electric. Competent. Good to have on your team when you are in a bind. He probably has a new quarterly Budweiser Girl as his flavour du jour, and there was not a warm kindness in his eyes, only laser like focus and “win”.
I really should move… I’ve been up and made myself breakfast, ate while standing up in the kitchen in only underwear, and took the tea to bed, resting the cup on my belly between sips.
The stomach bloating is also abating – thankfully. When I tell people that I’m full of hot air, now I can really mean it.
I wonder if the doc kept my “pearls” so I could see them when I had my appointment, like I asked.
The body is a marvel.